


Bon Appétit

by FujinoLover



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cannibalism, F/F, Vore, vorarephilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:12:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2542163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FujinoLover/pseuds/FujinoLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Eat me, Sameen..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bon Appétit

**Author's Note:**

> Translation to Chinese available at [Bon Appétit](http://www.movietvslash.com/thread-151645-1-1.html) by [EnOt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EnOt/pseuds/EnOt)
> 
> Around this time, I should mention that I’m not crazy, just a typical INTJ with morbid fascinations.

 

Never before Sameen Shaw imagined she would be willingly trapped in a blind date. Yet there she was—all dolled up and dressed to the nines whilst waiting for a woman whose screen name and picture she only knew of. The fact that her partner in crime, John Reese, was the one arranging this whole debauchery made the situation even more peculiar. She would have rejected (and possibly punched) him if she was unaware of his true intention. But alas, she did.

 

Their conscience might not be on the correct place all the time—despite her, a renowned trauma surgeon and him, NYPD’s coroner—but he was the one person who understood her, although he could not say the same about her anymore. Because John had Harold Finch now, who would not be very pleased if he figured out what he had been doing on the internet lately. That reason alone was enough incentive for Shaw to go along with this stupid blind date.

 

“Shaw?”

 

Shaw lifted her gaze up from the glass when her name was called. Beside her, stood a woman she had been waiting for. She was thoroughly relieved and pleased to recognize her face—the thought of scam to fake picture did cross her mind after John emailed the woman’s information to her. It was just so unlikely, but then again it was always the unexpected ones.

 

“Root.” Shaw nodded, motioning the vacant bar stool beside hers.

 

The bartender attended to Root once she took a seat. A glass of white wine was soon presented in front of her. As she sipped on her drink, Shaw used the opportunity to study her, from her side profile to her blue fitting dress. The amount of skin it left bare was not satisfying enough. Shaw might have protested when John first came up with the idea, but after looking at Root, she would not be objecting as fervently anymore, even though this—blind date, Root, and whatever was coming afterwards—was out of her comfort zone.

 

“Enjoying what you see?”

 

There was a smirk on Root’s lips, her tone light and teasing. She had turned slightly to the side and Shaw could not help but to run her eyes on the column of her throat down to the smallest glimpse of cleavage her dress had left exposed. Root did not seem to mind. In fact, she reveled on the attention. She even tossed her long hair over the shoulder with a flick of her wrist in order to give Shaw better view of her neck.

 

“Very,” Shaw muttered under her breath, voice smoky with desire. “You are very... appealing.”

 

Root laughed lightly at the compliment. “And here I thought you are an emotionless person.” She dared to reach forward and tuck Shaw’s wayward locks behind the ear. “Like John said.”

 

Shaw scoffed at the remark, but her attention was immediately drawn somewhere else, namely Root’s arm that was still stretched out beside her head. It was shaped nicely, not too muscular and not too floppy either, just the correct amount of firmness and softness. Shaw subconsciously wetted her lips, the pink tip of her tongue made a full sweep on her bottom lip before retreating back, fully aware of Root following its every action with her eyes.

 

The attraction was there, bold and loud and erratic. Feral arousal mingled with raw hunger draping over them like a thick blanket. Root was the first one breaking apart under the tension. She slid her hand down to cup Shaw’s cheek then brought their lips together. She caught the remaining taste of beer when sneaky tongue prodded forward to part her lips, but welcomed the intrusion all the same. It was different. Not that she never had female lover before, but they were not _Shaw_. Just thinking about her and what she was capable of had sent bolt of lightning straight to her core.

 

“Your place,” Root began, breathless. “Or mine?” There was no need of pretense, not when she could see Shaw’s almost pure black eyes. Hers must have not fared any better if the tight knot on her lower stomach was any indication of her own level of excitement.

 

“Mine is closer.”

 

Thus within the next minutes or so, they scrambled out of the bar and into Shaw’s car. Battling grabby hands and needy mouths made the journey harder. Shaw insisted on driving, because it was _her_ _car_ and they were going to _her place_ and she was _not_ that drunk—if she was drunk, it was not because of the beer but because of Root’s intoxicating perfume and the odd hint of leather clinging to it. They made it to her building in a fairly quick, but not so safe, drive.

 

She did not do this as well, Shaw noted belatedly as she shoved Root to the back of her door once they stumbled inside her apartment, she did not invite people to her place for a quick fuck. The thought echoed in her head as she got to her knees and then bunched Root’s dress up to her waist. She ripped her flimsy black underwear with her teeth, exuding crude sense of predatory by doing so. Root moaned when Shaw’s teeth grazed her clit, both hands tangling themselves in dark mane to pull her closer. The hold tightened when fingers penetrated her without prior ado.

 

Shaw had let her, using the physical distraction and murmurs of encouragement to mute her restless mind. Because there was an insistent whisper coming from deep down, telling her that whatever happened with Root, it was not going to be a simple case of one night stand. That _maybe_ , she was hoping Root would stay, would be like Harold for John after knowing the truth—except unlike Harold, she would not stop Shaw inclination to consume human’s flesh. Root would encourage her instead, because Root was the vore to Shaw’s cannibal.

 

* * *

 

It was the third time in the week for Shaw to wake up to Root grinding down on her. The sex was amazing and frequent and a little rough on the edge, just like how they both preferred it. However, Root had been getting increasingly desperate lately. Shaw recalled the weight of her breast in her mouth, the way Root had arched and cradled the back of her skull and told her to bite. She did, not as hard as Root would like, but it was enough to appease her the night before. But at this very moment, looking up from her position lying on the bed and catching the new bruises and teeth mark on Root’s breast— _hers_ —was giving uncomfortable sensation on the pit of her stomach. One that had nothing to do with any craving and a lot to do with betrayal, betrayal of the oath she had pledged to.

 

_First do no harm._

 

Unconsciously, Shaw worried her lip as the physician in her roared itself. She was not mentally damaged, not really. It was pure curiosity that had driven her to experiment, except she had taken it to a whole new level. Breaking her own hymen on seventh grade, smoking and cutting on eight grade, numerous mindless sex throughout high school with both genders of any possible age, drinking and substance abuse during undergrad—none of those managed to hold her interest for long, not until she decided to steal a thin slab of thigh meat from an unnamed accident victim during residency (he was dead and his leg was mangled, nobody noticed it was missing another piece).

 

Seared with basic salt and pepper, the meat tasted no different from pork, yet it was life changing for her. Eating human—knowing it was _human_ —gave her something akin to spiritual experience. It fulfilled the empty hole left by her disorder; it let her _feel_ and thought of herself as nothing different from everyone else. Thus the habit began and she had met John along the way. Their relationship was the most beneficial, because John shared the same interest and, as NYPD’s coroner, had the proper authority to access countless unidentified victims while she would cook for both of them. But then Harold came along and caught John in the act and threatened to report him if he did not change. Shaw hated him for taking John away from her and—

 

“Stop thinking,” Root warned sternly, hips never lost its rhythm as she peered down at Shaw. “I want this.”

 

But Shaw didn’t.

 

* * *

 

Root noticed Shaw’s resolve chipped and crumbled like a sandcastle being licked by waves, slow but sure. It was painted all over her face. She had known about Shaw from John. From what little the man had shared through their online chatting in the vore forum, she was aware of the fact that Shaw had never eaten from a living donor before. She did not understand the concept (why chose frozen meat over a fresh one? Was it some sort of modern-cannibals’ code of conduct?) but was determined to break it. The thought of herself being harvested then prepared to be consumed by Shaw was turning her on badly. Other vores fantasized of being swallowed, Root wanted to be devoured in real life. She longed to be a part of something—of someone, to have a mean in this short life instead of spending it as one of the faceless souls passing on earth. She had quickly decided Shaw would be the one for her ever since she laid her eyes on her. It was basically love at the first sight.

 

With such resolution in mind, Root went about preparing for the night ahead. Tempting Shaw would not be an easy feat, but with the correct amount of persuasion, she believed she could do it. Hence her current state—sitting on top of Shaw’s kitchen counter, naked and dripping with melted chocolate all over her body. She was licking some from her thumb when Shaw came home. She heard her bag dropped by the door and the sharp intake of breath as she took in the view.

 

“Root...”

 

Root could not help but smirk as she beckoned Shaw closer, feeling dark eyes heavy on her bare skin and the surge of wetness it caused on her sex. She jumped down from the counter to meet her halfway. Shaw had not scolded her for the mess she made yet, which was a good sign. Scooping some chocolate from her collarbone, Root offered it to Shaw hesitantly. It was hard to gauge her current mood just from her expression, because it stayed the same all the time. Root sighed when a small grin made its way on Shaw’s lips and tongue sneaked out to lick the offered digits. She moaned in response.

 

Shaw was methodical and throughout, every bit of a good surgeon she was. With Root’s hand grasped firmly in her own, she started licking from the very tip of the fingers, down to the soft pads and knuckles. Her tongue was warm and wet and Root shivered from the not-so-distance reminiscence of it moving inside her. The memory, however, was nothing compared to when Shaw took the whole length of her fingers into her mouth. Her beautiful, full lips were enclosed around the base of her first knuckles and her knees buckled from the sensation. There was a faint whisper in the far back of her mind telling her that this might be what men felt during blow job. Having experienced it first hand, she could not really blame them from liking it either.

 

Root groaned as Shaw pulled away, only to take her in again. Now that was too much of a blow job, but her mind was too muddled to think straight, let alone raising a protest. She loved how amazing Shaw’s mouth felt, even more when she began suckling and biting like she was going to scrape the meat off her thin phalanges. Realizing that she was losing control, Root stilled her hand then pressed her fingers down on Shaw’s tongue, prying her jaw open forcefully. The long digits were soon replaced by Root’s own tongue, licking every inch she could reach inside.

 

“Eat me, Sameen...” Root pleaded after pulling away. “Eat me.”

 

Shaw was eager to comply with the wish, even though she knew it had more than one meaning. With hands on Root’s hips, she backed her to the kitchen island then hoisted her up onto it. Her jacket and shirt were casted away; leaving her in black tank top and legging, before slipping to stand between Root’s parted legs. The long limbs came to wrap around her waist at once, while her own hands rested on each side of Root’s thighs. The sweet scent of chocolate combined with the heady smell of Root’s arousal had her mouth run dry.

 

Shaw planted open-mouth kiss on the lower side of Root’s jaw before slowly going down on her. She felt pulse thundered under the plane of her tongue, goose bump rose on slender arms, and muscles twitched on the flat abdomen as she licked every part of Root’s body. She cleaned up each drop of chocolate smeared upon pale skin, switching between simple licking and random biting every once in a while and taking pleasure from the noises Root made. She was careful to avoid the spots where Root needed her the most, though.

 

“Shaw...” Root moaned frustratingly. She jostled her leg to bump Shaw away from her knee then clawed at her shoulder to bring her up. “Stop playing with your food,” she groaned when Shaw bit her inner thigh lightly. “Didn’t your— _oh!_ ”

 

Root lost her entire composure then. She barely managed to stop from falling back to the marble surface by propping herself on one hand, the other holding tight on Shaw’s hair. Shaw had only done as much as kissing the top of her sex and she already felt like she was coming apart. Deft fingers parted her swollen folds then tongue stroke the whole length of her slit and she screamed— _yes! Right there!_ —and almost blacked out when Shaw sucked on the oversensitive clit, effectively pushing her over the edge. When Root came back to herself again, she was lying on the kitchen island (when did she collapse, she could not remember) with Shaw nuzzling the underside of her breast.

 

“Ready for the main course?”

 

Shaw had heard the question, felt Root’s ribs buzzed as she said it, but vehemently tried to ignore it.

 

“Sameen...”

 

Heaving a sigh of defeat, Shaw slid her hand down until it reached the side of Root’s waist. “What should I...” She trailed off. “Kidney?”

 

Kidney was good. Shaw had memorized several delicious recipes for kidney and Root would be able to live—although not as productive—with one kidney. It was a win-win situation for both of them. Unfortunately, Root had a different idea. She had realized early that this might be her only shot on getting eaten by Shaw. She was sure Shaw would not kill her and stock her meat inside the fridge—no matter how badly she wanted her to eat her heart and brain. It was hard for her to come to term with such notion, but she learned to compromise. If it was going to happen once, then she wanted it to be meaningful, to be able to see what Shaw had taken every time she caught the reflection of herself in the mirror.

 

“Ear,” Root answered. She stared back with as much certainty she could muster when Shaw looked down at her searchingly. “I want you to have my ear. Can you do it?”

 

The answer came a beat later, “Sure.” Ear was not so bad either.

 

Root was instructed to take a shower first whilst Shaw cleaned up her vast, marble-top kitchen island and then utilized it as a makeshift operating table. The necessary sterilized instruments were lined up in a metal tray. Shaw had done a quick mental calculation of the anesthesia dose Root required and was filling the syringe when the woman herself walked into the kitchen, wrapped in bathrobe and nothing else. Shaw almost jumped when Root hugged her from behind.

 

“One of these days, you’re gonna give me a heart attack,” she scowled.

 

“Sorry about that,” Root said between the kisses she peppered on Shaw’s neck. “Really can’t help myself.” And to prove the point, one of her hands sneaked under the waistband of Shaw’s legging. A lone finger happily rubbed on the wet patch on the panties.

 

Shaw groaned, torn between leaning back to Root and grinding herself harder forward (she eventually did both). She still had syringe and vial on her hands and was determined to finish at least that part before succumbing into her body’s needs when Root—or more like the fingers slipping under the cotton to directly touch the overheated skin—stopped her. She grunted something that might be a curse and might be Root’s name as she tossed her head back, resting it on Root’s shoulder while her hips continued to undulate on its own account.

 

“Can you do me a favor?”

 

Shaw could not say no even if she wanted to, not with fear of the tight circles and delicious pressure Root was drawing on her clit would stop if she denied. She wondered why Root bothered to ask in the first place, but nodded her consent nonetheless.

 

“Reduce the dose.” Root playfully tugged on Shaw’s ear with her teeth, earning herself a low moan in return. “I want to feel it, when you cut the cartilage and sew me back.”

 

 _You will feel it anyway_ was what Shaw had wanted to say, but her brain was not on its best at the moment. Thus she settled on another jerky nod then hastily pushed some of the clear substance back to its vial. She was glad she had put them away, because Root’s free hand had joined the fun by kneading her breast. All worked out from the previous performance, it only took less than a minute for Shaw to crumble forward, her hands grasping tightly on the marble edge as she came.

 

“Are you okay, doctor?” Root asked after she licked her fingers clean.

 

Shaw glared, but it was not as intimidating with her flushed cheeks. “Shut up.”

 

Root simply winked before climbing on the kitchen island, lying on her side and resting her head on the pillow Shaw had taken from the bedroom. Her back was to Shaw, but she could hear her moving about—putting on the gloves and pushing the tray closer. Soon she would not be able to anymore, at least not by both ears. Her thought was cut short when needle prickled her skin and she flinched. Cold liquid discharged into different points surrounding her ear and soon, one side of her head was lost to any sensation, albeit not entirely.

 

“Are you sure?” Shaw asked one last time, one hand pulling Root’s ear away while the other holding the blade. “You’ll be deaf on this ear without the auricle.”

 

“I know.” Root shivered slightly when the cold, sharp tip of the scalpel lingered on the back of her ear. “And I’m sure. Do it, Sameen.”

 

With Root’s consent, Shaw pressed forward. The skin easily broke under the blade, but the cartilage was harder to cut through. She moved with precision from the top end of the helix, cutting the concha into halves, and finally separating the lobule from where it met the jaw. Root held back from making noise by biting on her bottom lip, although a hiss or two did escape while Shaw stitched the leftover skin to cover the incision. Shaw then urged Root to sit up after she finished dressing the site and shot her with enough pain medication to numb the throbbing. Then it was over.

 

“How are you going to cook me?” Root asked rather drowsily, but still managed to smirk. Seeing her ear on plate was oddly arousing, even more with Shaw poking and prodding it.

 

On impulse, Shaw winched at Root’s choice of word. “Fried.”

 

“Like crispy pig ears?”

 

“Yeah, like that.”

 

They fell silent afterward. Root had fallen asleep and Shaw concentrated on her cooking. The ear cartilage, aside from being hard to cut, was also hard to soften. She was too tired to go through the slow boiling process, so she just dumped it and some herbs into a pressure cooker. Her attempt to busy herself failed spectacularly. She could not stop from thinking about Root, not with her sleeping a few feet away and her ear in the cooker.

 

Shaw did not know a thing about Root’s life, aside from her given name—Samantha—and the vague IT tech job Root accidentally brought up in a conversation. But she was familiar with everything else about her. The way her muscles contracted under her palm, wrapped around her fingers, warm flesh pliant under her ministration. The way she tasted, salty and wet on her tongue. The way scream ripped from her throat as she climaxed. The strong metallic tang of her blood. Shaw knew Root in the most intimate way anyone else could only imagined of. Soon she was going to have a part of Root for herself to enjoy and it still felt _wrong_ , even for her.

 

It was around an hour later, Shaw was picking the fried ear out from the frying pan when Root woke up, looking confused of her whereabouts.

 

“You want more meds?”

 

Root tilted her head to one side—her deaf side—before catching herself. “I’m fine.” She smiled, eyeing the plate Shaw was arranging with utter interest. “Have you finished cooking me yet?”

 

“I did.” Shaw presented the bite-size strips of Root’s fried ear to her. “Wanna try some?”

 

“No, I’m good.”

 

The portion was small, even for one person. Root wanted Shaw to eat all of her. She suspected Shaw would feel uneasy with her watching, but she really could not help herself. An involuntary gasp left her lips as she saw her taking the first bite. The pain radiated from what was left of her right ear only added to the pleasure travelling through her body. She was barely able to contain herself from pouncing at Shaw when the plate was cleared. The taste of herself—in the most perverse way possible—on Shaw’s mouth was something she would never forget for the rest of her life.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Shaw awoke to Root facing her. Root, who was lying on her side to avoid pressing the new wound. Root, who had white rectangular gauze on the side of her head. Root, who only had one ear. Root, who she had rendered half deaf. Shaw felt sick to her stomach, yet did nothing. She stared at Root, unblinking, until the latter stirred lightly. Root had felt the weight of Shaw’s gaze and the guilt emitting from her in waves, even before she opened her eyes. She sat up without meeting her gaze.

 

“I can’t do this,” Shaw declared.

 

Root’s heart shattered into pieces. “I know,” she said over her shoulder, putting on a brave smile. It felt too much like a breakup, of a relationship they did not even have. “I know.”

 

Before Root could stand, Shaw had grasped her wrist and pulled her back to sit on the bed. “Don’t leave.” She gazed at everything else but Root.

 

“I don’t understand, Sameen...”

 

“Me neither.” Feelings and Sameen Shaw did not go side by side. But last night, eating a part of Root had not given her the same sensation as it normally did. She had lost that, she did not want to lose Root too. “Just know that I don’t want you to leave.”

 

“And then what?” Root was frustrated and mostly sad. “I will still want you to eat me and you will still want to eat someone else,” she spat out in venom.

 

“Doesn’t sound so bad for me.” Shaw shrugged. “Or I can stop eating and you can stop wanting to be eaten.”

 

“I... I don’t know.”

 

“We can try.” Shaw shrugged; she was not sure about this herself. “But I have one question... Have you had your appendix removed?”

 

Root furrowed her brows at first, then laughed when she caught the underlying meaning of Shaw’s question. “No, I haven’t.”

 

“Good.” Shaw grinned before leaning forward to kiss Root. “Keep it as our insurance.”

 

If being with Root meant Shaw was required to be creative, to do the sweet— _their_ kind of sweet—talking. If the sex should be rough all the time. If she had to bite until her teeth left perfect imprint upon Root’s flesh and scratch with blunt nails until the skin tear apart, then so be it. She knew they could— _would_ get through this life just fine together, because they were the perfect match, one that was made in hell.

 


End file.
